


Turn and Turn Again

by greywing (ctrlx)



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ctrlx/pseuds/greywing
Summary: At some point, you choose. (A coda to the film.)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 205





	Turn and Turn Again

The signora possessed a generous, gregarious laugh, as fetching as the way her dark hair captured light, enthralling enough to divert from the ruddiness of her complexion, far more than enough to make time pass pleasantly. It had been an enjoyable assignment and if Marianne were lucky and the Signora Conti pleased by the portrait, Marianne's stay in the city might extend with another commission secured by recommendation.

It was nice to return to Milan.

An elusive shade of red commanded Marianne's attention when the door opened and a servant shuffled inside. He spoke to the signora in a respectful hush and was gone before the oils achieved the right consistency of the signora's ruby ring. When the door opened again, Marianne was intent on the emerging form of the gem upon the canvas, but she dimly noted the warmth of the signora's greeting.

It was the answering laugh that penetrated Marianne's concentration.

"I thought," the voice said, the Italian accented, "since I bear the responsibility of your choice that I might see how the project gets along."

Marianne raised her eyes slowly. The signora smiled at her guest. The guest smiled back.

It was Héloïse smiling back.

"As you see," the signora said. "Marianne and I get along like old friends. You did not tell me she would be such fine company."

Marianne's lips parted, her breaths shortening.

Héloïse's gaze shifted. Toward her. Toward Marianne.

"Is that so?" Héloïse asked. "I could not recommend qualities I wasn't sure remained, but I'm glad to hear this hasn't changed. I assume this is also true of her talent?"

The signora laughed. "I have not yet looked."

Héloïse turned back to the signora. Marianne breathed. She hadn't realized she'd stopped.

"She hasn't let you?" Héloïse asked.

The signora laughed that big laugh. "I haven't asked."

Héloïse turned to Marianne. "May I look?"

Marianne took a second too long to realize it was a question directed at her. "If..." There was no moisture in her throat. Her mind did not know in what language she spoke. "If the signora does not object."

"You'll tell me the truth?" the signora asked Héloïse.

Héloïse's mouth pinched, as if trapping mirth. "Of course."

The signora smiled, that laugh emanating again. "You mean the truth I want to hear!"

Héloïse smiled. Not the one that spread wide, uninhibited, but nonetheless one that held fondness.

Héloïse crossed the room, Marianne watching her come closer and closer, until Héloïse's path brought her to Marianne's side. They stood almost shoulder-to-shoulder, not touching, both turning in silence to face the canvas as if in study, close enough to imagine the heat of the other.

Soft, in French, softer than the volume of normal conversation, Héloïse said, "It looks to be coming along well." Their breaths filled the small gap. "You appear to be well also."

Blood rushed in Marianne's ears, too loud, threatening to obscure the fact that Héloïse was beside her. Marianne glanced at the signora placidly watching them both and swallowed, all the missed conversations of years teetering on her tongue. "You also look well." What else to say? "Have you come here as an art critic?"

A sharp exhalation, that small little laugh of Héloïse's. Marianne knew without looking that Héloïse was smiling. "I think I can say this is a truer likeness than your first attempt to paint me."

Marianne smiled. The words held no sting. Nor did the memory.

"How does it look?" the signora called out.

"It looks like you," Héloïse responded in Italian.

"I hope not," the signora replied archly. "I rather hope it's more beautiful."

Marianne risked a glance at Héloïse. Héloïse’s mouth curved in a smile. Amused. (But not like the one in Marianne's memory, not like the smile as they played cards, nor like the one at the bonfire.)

"Shall I stand here and direct her?" Héloïse asked.

The signora laughed. "Do, do!"

Héloïse turned to Marianne. Their eyes met. Marianne's breath caught. There, a smile. Not upon Héloïse's lips. In her eyes. That twinkle. "May I watch you work?"

Throat still dry, Marianne managed a nod. She gripped the paintbrush. She felt nothing in her hands. But the brush was steady, the canvas eager for the paint.

"How long will you be in Milan?" Héloïse asked softly, reverting to French.

"A few more days to finish the Signora's portrait, then perhaps another week for another."

Héloïse's breaths were even. "And after?"

Marianne shook her head minutely. "I should return before the weather turns for winter."

"The weather will not turn for a month or so yet."

". . . Yes."

"Would you stay that long?"

The paintbrush hovered. The possible answers rattled about in Marianne's mind. "Perhaps. If I had a reason."

"A reason? Such as another commission? Or would something else persuade?"

Marianne gazed unseeingly into the canvas. "Are you asking me to stay?"

"Yes."

*

Paintings lined each wall of the hall, but only one subject held Marianne’s attention. She could not stop looking at Héloïse. At Héloïse’s face, her posture, her form, her hands, the proximity and immediacy of her presence, the tangibility of her, flesh and blood, moving and breathing.

Perhaps Marianne might have yearned for a less public venue, but perhaps it was for the best that Héloïse had suggested the gallery. This was not Brittany, after all.

“Am I that changed?” remarked Héloïse without inflection. Marianne’s attention darted to Héloïse’s face, but Héloïse only held Marianne's eyes for a second before turning away sedately toward the painting before them. “Or are you memorizing me again, to paint me in secret when you are alone?" Héloïse's gaze wandered leisurely over the canvas. "When you're gone."

Marianne lips parted.

Héloïse, hands gripped before her, studied Marianne out of the corner of her eye. “Are you already thinking of the moment when we will say goodbye?”

Marianne ducked her head. Her hand rose to meet her forehead’s descent, but Marianne stilled halfway and straightened up. She shook her head. “I must return home.”

Héloïse didn't move, as still as if she posed. “That does not mean you cannot return here. This is not the first time you’ve been in Milan.”

A sharp inhalation nearly choked Marianne. Had Héloïse seen her on a previous visit? Had Héloïse known when she’d been in the city?

“It was not on my word alone that Signora Conti decided on you,” continued Héloïse. "I've seen your portraits hung in other homes."

Marianne exhaled. Then she nodded. “I have received work here, yes.”

"And you'll likely receive more in the future."

"Fortune willing," conceded Marianne. She stepped closer to Héloïse. Not so close that light could not pass between their forms, but close enough to catch a scent. Woody. "What is it that you want from me, Héloïse?"

"To see you," Héloïse said, simply, directly. "To see you in person and not just in my thoughts. To hear your voice." Héloïse's lips twitched at the corners. "Your laugh."

Marianne bowed her head. The shift in perspective returned her to a study of Héloïse's hands. Left gripping the right. A band adorned her ring finger. Would a reddish brown into a blended yellow suit to catch the sheen? (Or would it be best to omit the accessory entirely?)

Marianne raised her head. "That's all?"

Héloïse turned to her sharply, all eyes, piercing, hard, uncompromising. Marianne's pulse quickened, thrilled and apprehensive. That was the spirit she remembered.

"Your company is not a small thing to me," Héloïse said. "It never was."

"You did not write," Marianne managed.

"Neither did you," responded Héloïse promptly.

Marianne injected a short pause to calm her breaths. Héloïse's eyes drilled into her.

"It didn't feel like my place," Marianne managed, in a whisper. Héloïse's gaze didn't retreat. "I didn't know if to hear from me would only . . . remind you that I had a choice."

Héloïse blinked, hard, jaw squared. She turned away, stony, the heaviness of her breaths spewing irritation. After a time her breaths quieted. "It wouldn't have."

Marianne wanted to rest her head upon Héloïse's shoulder. But here wasn't the place. And she didn't know if Héloïse would have welcomed her weight. She took a deep breath that trembled with the tears she blinked back. "I couldn't . . . I couldn't have written you. I couldn't have borne it. Not until what felt like . . . years. By then, so much time had passed."

Héloïse swallowed. "I know."

Marianne almost cried. With relief. To release the ache of years' separation. She hadn't known she'd needed to hear Héloïse say those words. It felt like forgiveness or, if not that, acceptance. Of facts that could not be changed.

They'd wasted time. Marianne almost said it aloud. She thought she might have been able even to laugh while doing so. But it felt too soon. Years and years gone and it felt too soon.

"I saw a painting attributed to your father," Héloïse said. "It was of Orpheus and Eurydice."

Marianne calmed herself, swiping surreptitiously at one escaped tear. "What did you think of it?"

"It was beautiful," Héloïse said. "It looked like even in that final moment that they were reaching for one another."

"Do you still think that perhaps she told him to turn around?"

Héloïse's features pinched in contemplation. "Do you think it could all be true at once? That she told him to turn around, but that he also had a choice in that moment to be the lover or the poet and he could not resist choosing the memory of her?" The lines of Héloïse's face smoothed. "Maybe they always knew how that chapter between them would end." Héloïse finally turned back to Marianne. "Why should they have been fortunate among all lovers who have suffered separation to have been given another opportunity? Maybe they accepted that they, like everyone else, must wait for their stories to intertwine again."

Marianne cocked her head. "Again. When?"

The smallest of smiles touched Héloïse lips. "We all end up in the same place."

Marianne nodded minutely. "Yes. I see."

Héloïse's eyes shifted like troubled waters. "I worried sometimes that you had left this world--and how would I know?"

"I held the same fears about you," Marianne admitted.

Héloïse's gaze softened. "And yet not knowing . . ." Héloïse exhaled. "By not knowing, I could keep you always alive in my thoughts. Alive . . . and happy." Héloïse glanced again at the painting before them. "I thought it was very beautiful. Your painting."

Marianne's heart swelled. "You knew."

"How could I not?" Héloïse's eyes searched hers. Marianne felt a featherlight touch skim across the back of her hand but didn't dare break eye contact. "Didn't you think I would be looking for you?"

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr. Here for archiving.


End file.
